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Back Into the Dying Light Save as PDF
Chapters (72)
  1. Copyright Notice
  2. Dedication
  3. I
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. BEFORE
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. BEFORE
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. BEFORE
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. BEFORE
  25. II
  26. 18
  27. 19
  28. 20
  29. 21
  30. 22
  31. 23
  32. 24
  33. 25
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. 28
  37. 29
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. 32
  41. III
  42. 33
  43. 34
  44. 35
  45. 36
  46. 37
  47. 38
  48. 39
  49. 40
  50. 41
  51. IV
  52. 42
  53. 43
  54. 44
  55. 45
  56. 46
  57. 47
  58. 48
  59. 49
  60. 50
  61. 51
  62. 52
  63. 53
  64. 54
  65. 55
  66. 56
  67. 57
  68. 58
  69. AFTER
  70. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  71. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  72. Newsletter Sign-up

She reached for something, anything, to ground her, and conjured a memory from some sheltered part of her mind. Hector’s face in the dark. I forgive you, he’d said. I don’t want you to die.

Beru held the memory in her mind, gripping it like a lifeline as she reached again for the god’s power, bracing against the fury that came with it. She threw out a palm and a force burst from her like a wave, crashing against the walls of the foyer and shattering the windows.

She seized the glass shards in midair, suspending them in place, sharp points trained on each Witness and Paladin.

The god’s will shrieked in her head, threatening to engulf her.

Across the room, Pallas’s eyes blazed with fury.

NOW! KILL HIM!

Beru pitched forward, her hands on the cold marble floor, every inch of her screaming to reach out and tear Pallas apart. All she could do was hold herself still on the floor and fight.

“Illya,” she gasped. “The collar.”

“What?” He dropped to a crouch beside her.

“When I say,” she said, and then reached out with the god’s power to grab hold of each of her friends and pulled.

The world spun. Sand flew into Beru’s face. The crash of waves and shouting voices swirled around her. But she couldn’t move, could barely think beyond the roar of the god. It flooded her body, bleeding through Pallas’s binding and seizing control. And Beru was helpless to stop it.

15

JUDE

Blood dripped like rain onto the rug of the sitting room where Jude knelt. Already he had lost count of how many times the Witnesses had sliced into him. His jaw bloomed hot with fresh bruises.

The scarred Witness held a poker over the flames of the crackling hearth across the room. Jude remembered meeting those cold gray eyes over the clash of their swords. And he remembered seeing him heaped in a bloody mess in the ruins of Behezda the last time they’d met.

It seemed the Witness remembered it, too, judging by how he appeared to relish Jude’s pain. Turning slowly, he stalked back to Jude, swinging the hot poker leisurely. “Tell us where the Prophet is.”

Jude’s vision blurred, the scarred Witness swimming in and out of focus. “I don’t know.”

His voice sounded very far away.

“You expect me to believe that?”

Jude flicked his gaze at the other Witnesses looming over him. “Why don’t you use your stolen Graces to tell if I’m lying?”

His teeth chattered as he spoke. When none of them answered, he choked out a laugh, thick with blood. “Or let me guess—you don’t know how, do you? Just because a god ripped out someone’s Grace and gave it to you doesn’t mean you know the first thing about—”